Heroic
by Hoodfabulous
Summary: Bows and arrows, potions and spells, castles and post-c bliss. One should never make deals with devils. A birthday fic for AliCat0623, my favorite pagan witch. Broken into a few, short chapters. Happy Birthday Ali!
1. Chapter 1

_Twilight belongs to S.M._

_Dedicated to Ali, the most amazing witch I know._

_Which isn't an amazing feat, considering she's the only witch I know, but still ..._

_Happy birthday, Ali!_

_All mistakes are my own._

* * *

_Warnings: Rated 'M' for some citrus._

_Huge age-gap between B/E (keeping with the time period inside my head)._

_If this makes you uncomfortable, please feel free to stop here._

**Heroic**

_ One should never make deals with devils._

Arising before the rooster crows, I forego my gown and slip on my brother's britches, smiling to myself as I think of my mother's face the last time she caught me out of my skirts. Seth, my brother, is an exceptionally slender boy at eighteen, older than I am by only two years. His britches and belt fit me well, cinching easily around my waist.

Once completely dressed, I pause near the doorway of the cottage, my fingertips resting on the wooden door. Seth sleeps near the fireplace on an old, bearskin rug. An empty bottle of mead remains in his one hand, his bony fingers twitching against the bottle. His cheeks appear as hollow as mine; starvation eats away at the lot of us, my family that is. Seth suffers more than my mother and I ever could, using what little food he acquires to feed the ladies of his house. Ours is a battle to remain alive, a battle my twin sister lost as a mere infant.

Sorrow fills my heart at the thought of a sister I do not remember, but I push my woes aside, using the emotion to beckon me to my destination. I slip from the inside quarters of my home, closing the door behind me. Smoke curls from the chimneys of the other homes in our village. The air stinks of hog and horse manure. Chickens scatter out of my path, skirting away from my quickening steps as I clamber away from the village and through the forest, the worn backs of Seth's old boots loose against my heels.

Early morning sunlight lights up the pale sky. Cool wind nips at my exposed skin as I perch atop a hill. I tug my cloak lower over my head, hiding my face from the chill of the air. From beneath the shadow of the hood, my eyes search the land below. I can hear leaves and bracken crunch beneath the footfalls of an animal, and with my stomach grumbling and complaining, I grip the bow in one hand, silently removing an arrow from the quiver strapped to my back. With one eye steady and keen, the other closed, I hone in on my target, which is entering the forest before me.

Instead of the tawny fur of a buck or doe, a man, wearing a deep, emerald-green robe enters my view. Lowering my weapon, I gape at him, at the simple elegance his gait allows. Following the well-worn trail of fox and wolves, he travels the packed earth with his head held high, adventure in his eyes.

The garb he wears is royal in nature, and what a fool he is for wearing it. I rub my eyes with the back of my arm, blinking and half expecting the illusion of this man to disappear, yet he is still there. A hint of sunlight catches the sheen of his hair, the strands as ruddy and unkempt as a fox's coat. Although I'd never seen this man with my own eyes, his identity is nary a secret. The sharp planes of his face are well known. The whispered rumors of his beauty are not only notorious, but also atrocious—in my humble opinion. Beauty and intelligence rarely go hand-in-hand. Intellect is a far greater quality in a man. Feeble minds make for tediousness.

And I despise nothing greater than tediousness.

Curiosity creeps into my brain. The very idea of this man, the crowned prince of our land, strolling through the forest without his guards flanking each side is an impossible concept to fathom. Yet there he stands, near the banks of a babbling brook, a wistful smile on his face. In this moment, as I lay my weapon on the ground and hide behind the trunk of a great oak, I understand what those ridiculous girls in the village giggle about.

Prince Edward is glorious.

Glorious, yet ignorant.

I follow him undetected for miles. Palace life has made him spoiled. He is obviously unaware of the dangers surrounding him. Has he not heard of the gypsies roaming the woods? Is he oblivious to those who wish to see him hanging from the gallows as payment for his father's unconcern of the famine destroying the land?

Not until he abandons the narrow trail and heads west does the niggling fear set in. The path he walks is one I know well. It's one I've traveled many times myself, although this is something I'd never admit aloud to anyone for fear of death.

Death.

The path he travels is death.

With swift feet and a low curse upon my tongue, I climb the hills. The prince is no longer in view. Briars cling to my cloak, tugging the coarse fabric with their natural resistance. Somehow, I make it ahead of him, my lungs burning from the sheer exhilaration bestowed upon my body by my sore legs. Bow and arrow in hand, I aim, blowing out a shallow breath as the crowned prince grows closer to my line of fire.

The arrow cuts through the air, the feathers whispering through the wind. Prince Edward lets out a gasp as the sharpened arrow sinks into a tree, missing the tip of his nose by a hair. Drawing his sword, he spins on one heel, his eyes darting in my direction. I feel the weight of his gaze once it is upon me, and even in the great distance, I can feel its power. Wielding his sword in one hand, he unclasps the cloak from his neck with the other. The rich material falls away, pooling on the ground near his boots.

"Show yourself," he yells. His voice echoes**, bouncing off the trees as if the forest was****his theatre.** "You're arrogant enough to fire your weapon, but too cowardly to show your face? Show yourself!"

Ducking lower on the hill, I remove another arrow from my quiver. This time it sails through the air, landing directly in the packed earth between his parted legs. He sucks in a breath, staring down at his groin. The expression of pure horror on his face is so comical that I fail to contain my snickers.

"Cease fire! Who goes there?" His demanding voice does little to alleviate the smirk on my face.

Hidden in the shadows of trees and hills, and quicker on my feet than this man could ever dream of, I feel powerful for the first time in my life. No longer am I a starving villager searching the woods for the wild game we lack by living so close to the king's forest. I am Isabella Swan, the girl who startled the crowned prince with two slivers of wood.

I fire three more arrows in succession, one after another. Each of them land where I intended: one by each foot, the third landing beside the one between his parted legs. Still, the prince stands his ground, never moving, never flinching. I stand with one lonesome arrow inside my quiver. My only other weapon is a slender knife tucked inside my belt.

I contemplate firing the last arrow, but hesitate. It's during my brief period of hesitancy when Prince Edward charges forward; barreling up the **hill****,** I stand upon as if he's an angry bull. Boastfulness ebbs away and I no longer find myself to be very brave nor bold. Stumbling backwards, my boot catches on a root and I fall to the forest ground. A sharp, stabbing pain slices into my upper thigh. The pain is so instantaneous, so harrowing, that I freeze. Redness seeps to the surface of my leg, staining my brother's britches.

"Taken down by your own unsheathed knife," a condescending voice remarks. "You're not as clever as I previously thought."

The silver tip of his sword touches my chin, forcing my head upward. The hood of my cloak falls away with the movement, leaving my head feeling light and weightless. I meet his eyes for the first time, immediately impaired by the emerald-green color matching his abandoned robe. Shock graces his features, twisting his face. Straightening his posture, he returns the sword to his belt.

Sheathed, of course.

"A lady?" he whispers, slowly shaking his head. Images of fair maidens in lavish gowns, dancing under the moonlight enter my mind. The thought disgusts me.

"I'm no lady, I assure you."

"I'm afraid I have to agree with you on that, Madame." Prince Edward laughs and I hate the sound. The rich, musical tone is captivating.

"You mock me with your laughter, Your Highness."

"And you waste valuable time arguing with me when you could be tending to the wound on your leg."

Not until he speaks of the wound does it begin to sting again. Prince Edward crouches down and moves the small slit in the fabric of my britches. My breath stills inside me as he dips his fingers inside the slit and rips the britches open even further. Heat erupts inside my body, cascading from the top of my head to the very tips of my toes. There has never been a time that I can recall revealing so much skin above my ankle. Prince Edward touches my pale skin smeared with blood, unhindered by the crimson staining his fingertips.

"We should clean the wound," he murmurs. "There's a brook in the distance."

I say nothing, too transfixed at the way the pads of his fingers massage soothing circles on my bare, wounded skin. The cut is superficial at best, barely bleeding by this point. I scoot across the ground, missing his touch as soon as I lose it.

"I must go," I mutter. His bewitching touch has filled me with unease.

"Madame, you transpired to murder me, yet you believe I would easily let you scurry off into the forest? Do you know the punishment for what you've done?"

"Your Majesty, I wasn't attempting to kill you."

Prince Edward stands, his face stoic. Placing one hand on the handle of his blade, he leans back on his heels, a smirk creeping across his face.

"Please, Milady, enlighten me."

I struggle to stand, the pain shooting through my leg almost unbearable. "I was saving you, Your Highness."

"Saving me?" The prince breaks into laughter. Birds abandon their nests at the sound, their wings flapping in the cool breeze. "How heroic of you, but pray, tell, how were you saving me?"

"You don't know what evil lurks and lingers inside the darkest depths of this forest."

Prince Edward's hand leaves the handle of his sword and laughter no longer dances in his eyes. I shift away just out of his grip as he crouches back down, reaching out toward my britches.

"Please," he insists, concern softening his tone. "Allow me to clean and bind your wound, Madame.

Afterward, you can share more information concerning this evil of which you speak.

Shaking my head, I scurry back farther from his advances. "Such details shouldn't be spoken aloud. I must go, Sire."

Climbing to my feet, I limp in the direction from whence I came. He then grasps my wrist, turning me to face him, and I stumble into his chest, my hands upon his shirt. I can feel the planes and lines of hard muscle that lay beneath my fingers.

Bewitching.

Yes, bewitching.

I can barely breathe.

My heart seizes inside my chest, my tongue wetting my parched lips. His hand cups my face with a tenderness I've never felt.

"I must say, I admire your stubbornness. What is your name?"

"You shouldn't touch me with such familiarity, Your Highness," I choke aloud. "Although, I shouldn't be surprised by the crude nature of a royal."

"Crude nature of a royal?" He chuckles, his thumb continually stroking the contours of my cheek.

"Rumors of the royals' conquests' spread quicker than the famine destroying your people."

"Do you always speak with such an unbridled tongue?"

"Always." I attempt a smirk and fail. His touch renders me into a dumbstruck stupor.

"And do you always believe rumors spread by silly commoners?"

Suddenly the fuzzy haze of my mind clears. Stepping back, I close my eyes for a moment, my skin feeling foreign without his hand brushing across the surface. "Let not this silly commoner waste any more of your precious time." Stepping forward, those entitled fingers of his stop me in my tracks once again.

"I assure you, any time spent in your presence is not a waste, but a precious gift, Butterfly."

"Butterfly?" I ask, taken aback by his boldness.

"Yes, Butterfly. If you refuse to tell me your name, I must provide one for you," he insists, stepping into my space, that hypnotizing hand of his coming to rest upon my cheek again. Stepping back, I jerk away from it. "As quick as you are beautiful, Butterfly. A perfect fit."

Emerald-green eyes flit across the bridge of my nose and rest upon the part of my lips. This time when I turn, he doesn't follow me. Standing near the base of the great oak, he keeps silent, not speaking even as I leave him one last fair warning.

"Stay out of the woods, Your Majesty," I say. "Unless inevitable death is what you seek."

* * *

Pre-read by Rumner and Jonesn who drive me completely insane. Beautiful banner also made by Rumner. Beta'd by SunflowerFran. For AliCat0623. I hope she isn't too scared to read it. :D

The time and place of this fic exists in your imagination. This isn't the type of fic I normally write, so please be gentle with me. I'm a fantasy virgin.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two**

Two moons later, a pigeon lands upon my windowsill. Squawking, he wakes me from my slumber and I grumble, irate with the early morning hour. Wrapped around his leg is a note, tied in place with twine. I unwind it, glancing around the small room, although I'm unsure why. Seth is long gone, tending to the hogs. Mama remains asleep on her bed, hay poking from small holes worn in the mattress. I unfold the note, read the words scrawled upon the parchment, and toss it into the fire.

"Mama, I'm going for a walk," I say. Her light snores are her only reply.

Instead of wearing my brother's britches, I wear a gown. Beige and blue, faded from time, the dress is nondescript, really, tighter in the places where womanhood has expanded me. Unfortunately, we have little money to afford material to make new clothes. The dress will have to do.

I hurry through the village and take the same path I had two days prior. In the deepest, darkest part of the forest sits a lone cottage. Smoke rises from the chimney, curling and twisting like a skeleton's finger gesturing me forward. A stone wall, with a wooden gate seems a meek and feeble way of protecting this rather significant cottage from the outside world. A crow sits upon the wall, cawing at me as I open the gate. Ignoring him, I follow a cobblestone path to the front door of the cottage. I don't knock before opening the creaking door. Knocking is futile, since the occupant is already aware of my presence and has been, even before I stepped into the forest.

She sits near the fireplace, mending a pair of stockings. Her beauty is a far cry from the tales of snaggle teeth, hairy lips, and long, crooked noses. Ebony hair spills past her shoulders in thick waves. Flickering flames from the fireplace illuminate her delicate, childlike features and porcelain white skin. Rabbit stew bubbles in the cauldron nestled in the fireplace, the scent filling the air.

"I saw you yesterday," she whispers. Her voice is soft as a breeze.

I slump down into a chair with a tattered seat, smiling at the girl who looks no older than I do. "And yet you failed to greet me … How incredibly discourteous of you."

"I see your recent mishap hasn't weakened your gaiety." Alice purses her lips and stares into the fire. "What was it like?"

Furrowing my brow, I lean forward, propping my elbows on my knees. "My apologies, dear Grandmother. Your question … it perplexes me. What was what like?"

"Conversing with the crowned prince." Alice smiles, her wistful gaze escaping the flames. They flicker in her irises, burning just as brightly as the crimson stain of her cheeks. "Decades have slipped by since I first met your grandfather. Memories and … feelings fade with the passage of time, but I still remember the pounding of my heart the first time Jasper touched my hand. It felt the same way when the prince touched you."

"You require an increase of entertainment in your life." Forcing a laugh, I lean back in the chair. "Using your enchantments to spy on the world through my eyes again?"

"Seclusion is insufferable." A black cat springs down from the hearth, plopping his fat body on Alice's lap. She strokes his fur, her mouth twisted in a frown. "Curse King Carlisle and his insistent witch hunt; persecuted by the very family who once claimed me as their own."

Alice's speech hinders and she clears her throat. She stands, the movement forcing the cat from her lap. A wooden cabinet rests against the far wall, the shelves filled with little bottles of herbs and other substances. Alice removes a bottle from the cabinet and uncorks it. Closing her eyes, she waves the bottle below her nostrils, breathing deeply as she does so. Her eyes flutter open and she saunters to the fireplace, sprinkling the contents of the bottle over the bubbling cauldron nestled over the logs. Crackling and sizzling sounds immediately fill the air. The flames of the fire lick the sides of the cauldron at a more violent pace.

"Tell me child," she says, returning the cork inside the mouth of the bottle and tapping it thoughtfully inside the palm of her hand, "how much of the history between King Cullen's family and ours are you aware of?"

"Very little." I smile, always tickled inside whenever my grandmother calls me a child. Although her life spans mine by decades, I appear physically older than the small girl in front of me. Frozen in time, Alice's body should have returned to the earth long ago. "Mother rarely speaks of you, dutifully following your wishes. It is by your own request that we never speak your name."

"Barbaric savages search the woods for me and the others. If the witch hunters caught wind of any whispered rumors of your grandmother, the age-stinted sorceress, hiding in the forest … I'd be executed."

"Unless you're with child at the time of your pious persecution." I shrug. "A loophole put into place by the not-so-generous royals."

"With child." A smile returns to Alice's face. My light teasing must influence her spirit. She returns the bottle to the cabinet and perches on the edge of the chair beside me. "It's been so terribly long since I was with child. I must admit, I miss the sensation of a child blossoming inside me, although there is nothing in this life that could convince me to ever bear a child again."

"Why not, if you miss it so?"

Alice glances through a nearby window. The evening sun sinks somewhere in the distance, filling the room with a soft flow. Dust particles filter in the light that is streaming into the room. Shifting in her chair and winding her fingers together, Alice returns her gaze to me.

"You must find me terribly blessed to never age, you silly girl. This enchantment on my body is a curse, not a blessing. A _curse_."

Eager to hear more, I lean forward, capturing each whispered word. Alice has never spoken of the enchantment before this day, and I'm anxious to drink in every word.

"How is eternal life a curse, Grandmother?"

"Close your eyes, Isabella. Go on, my dear."

Obligingly, I close my eyes.

"Thank you. Now, I understand you've never fallen for the fickle charms of any of the boys in your village, but try to imagine you have. Try to imagine falling in love with a boy."

For reasons that I do not understand, the sharp contours of the prince's face flash behind my closed lids. Heat rises to my cheeks, yet my grandmother doesn't mock me by laughing or questioning the blushing apples that I'm sure are there.

"_You're thirteen," she whispers, her voice faraway. "You're of age now, a woman ready to marry, prepared to leave your parents behind and cling to your husband, to bear his children. And you do. Over the course of three years, you bring two children into the world, one boy and one girl. And they are beautiful, with skies for eyes and roses for cheeks, blond hair instead of black. They are your husband's children, after all._

"_Now, imagine how you would feel if you ceased to age after your sixteenth year. You watch your children grow until they're staring you straight in the eye. Imagine your husband's body twisting with the cruelty of time, deforming his joints and rendering him as helpless as a babe. Imagine the despair of not only burying the man you love, but also burying your children beside him. And after that, your children's children beside them. And your grandchildren's children ..."_

My eyes are wrenched open by the sorrow in her voice. "Grandmother, I never realized."

"No, no one does, I suppose. Witnessing the death of everyone you love year after year, decade after decade … it _is _the utmost punishment."

"Punishment," I say, licking my parched lips. "What was the cause for such cruelty placed upon you?"

Alice heaves a weary sigh. "Oh, I suppose it began how all great stories begin."

"And how is that?"

"With two people," she says. "Falling in love."

Alice tends to the cauldron, stirring the bubbling liquid inside. The room is filled with a delicious sweet scent, yet I do not dare inquire on the contents of the pot.

"Michael, the crowned prince at the time, was betrothed to the wretched Princess Jessica, a true beast of a woman. Their marriage was prearranged in an attempt to form a union between two countries. Kings before him submitted to the law, marrying the chosen princess and secretly bedding the handmaidens." Alice pauses and shudders. "Some princes were not very discreet with their sexual conquests."

"Your evasiveness is dastardly." I twist the long braid draped over my shoulder.

"Pardon me and my ill-fated attempt at conversation with an actual _individual_." Alice scowls, nodding at the black cat. "Sam hasn't uttered a word in over twenty years."

"The story, Grandmother." I sigh.

"Ah, yes, the story." Alice closes her eyes and takes a deep breath, blowing it out slowly. "There once was a prince named Michael who fell madly in love with a witch named Lauren. Lauren, of course, was not his betrothed."

"The prince? Fell in love with a witch?" I laugh. "The very idea is completely absurd."

"There once was a prince named Michael who fell madly in love with a witch named Lauren," Alice repeats. Her glare is firm, her voice unwavering as she continues. "Unfortunately, aside from obvious reasons, the pair was already betrothed to others. But their love was so strong, so pure; they vowed never to be separated from each other. So they ran away.

"And the king, King Eric, was enraged by the prince's blatant disregard for authority and for abandoning his princely duties. The royal army found the prince and witch hiding in the woods in her family home. They were brought back to the kingdom for their punishment. However, Prince Michael, he faced no ridicule. Instead, the king doted on him, placing heavy, jewel-encrusted rings on his fingers, swathing him with the finest robes in the kingdom. The prince became distracted by his father's niceties; overjoyed with all of the grace and forgiveness. All the while, his one true love was being hung from the gallows.

"Dreadful," I whisper, pressing my hand against my pounding chest. "How did the prince react?"

"He was heartbroken." Alice stares at her hands resting in her lap, her face blank. "He holed up in his bedchamber for days, weeks, months, eating very little, interacting very little with anyone, other than his servants. That's how he met me."

"You?"

"Yes, me." Alice glances up from her hands, smiling softly. "My brother, Brandon, was a servant in the king's palace. Brandon and I had lost our mother, father, brother, and sisters to the plague two summers prior, leaving us with a firm recognition of heartache. And he also had … _other things_ in common with the prince."

"You," I respond. "You were the common connection between the two."

"I wasn't ready," she whispered, her voice forlorn. "My mother hadn't prepared me for this life. My powers weren't strong enough."

I scoot closer to her, the chair dragging against the packed earth below. "What did the prince ask you to do?"

"He asked me to bring her back." Alice's eyes darken with her words; darken more than any human's eyes ever should. "Higginbotham blood runs thick through our veins, Bella. People call us witches, sorcerers. But we're so much more than that, my sweet granddaughter."

Hairs on my arms and the back of my neck stand at attention, leaving my skin crawling. "If we're not witches, what are we?"

"My great-grandmother called us Necropneumas. We breathe life back into the dead."

"That's quite enough information for one day, thank-"

"When used properly, our necro powers can be helpful." Alice says, ignoring the paleness of my face, the trembling of my hands. "But when a witch uses her powers prematurely, the consequences are dire."

"I do not wish to hear anymore."

"Lauren ravaged the village, Bella." Alice stands and walks to the window, resting her hands on the sill. "Possessed by hunger, her skin hanging from tattered bones, she murdered men, women, and children. The children … they screamed. God, sometimes I still hear their screams; see the blood on her face, their organs in her gnarled hands."

Uneasiness sweeps over me, curling the breakfast in my belly. "Please, stop."

"A necropneuma is unable to put to death the subject which she brought back to life. And they can _only _be killed by someone who possesses great powers, which is the reason why the king called upon Tanya."

"Tanya?"

Alice nods. "Tanya was the greatest sorceress in all the land. She'd survived the elimination of so many of us because of the king's … _fondness_ of the beautiful woman. Tanya used her powers to conquer the prince's true love and rid the kingdom of the evil I had unintentionally inflicted."

"Where were you while all this was taking place?"

"Hiding," she says her voice full of sorrow. "Hiding with my husband and children, hiding from the king. But one could not hide from Tanya. Instead of bringing me back to the kingdom, Tanya cursed me to walk this earth for eternity, watching as my descendants lived their lives to the fullest while I stood frozen in time."

"That's quite a story," I murmur. "No wonder Mother failed to share it with me."

Alice smiles, turning from the window with one eyebrow raised. "Do you not wish to know why I chose _now_ to share it with you?"

"No, but I have a feeling you're about to explain it to me anyway."

"I hadn't practiced my necro powers since the massacre." Alice licks her lips and squares her jaw, giving me a guarded look. "Not until your twin sister died inside your mother's womb."

"Grandmother," I whisper, faintness sweeping over me.

"Marie was dead," Alice says, her voice coming out in a rushing breath. She crosses the room and falls to her knees, cupping my cheek with one cold hand. "She no longer moved, no longer kicked. I invoked the spirits, placed my hands upon Renee's belly. She began to squirm and kick and then to push at your mother's abdomen with her tiny feet. Only … she was too strong, your sister. I birthed you that night, you and Marie. I held you both in my arms. One, tiny baby girl, with light brown hair and doe-brown eyes, and another girl with raven tresses, and a strawberry-colored mark where my palm now rests on your face."

"Oh, no," I mutter.

"In my quest to save your sister, I cursed her with a mark she would never be able to hide." Tears fill my grandmother's eyes. "I knew the other villagers would talk once they saw the mark. I'd been so careful for so many years: living in the forest away from other people, only visiting you and your family under the cloak of darkness. That's not the life I wanted for Marie. That's not a life at all."

"I don't understand." I grab Alice's hand, removing it from my face and winding my fingers through hers, giving it a comforting squeeze. "Marie died that night anyway, Grandmother. Something must have been wrong with her to begin with to die not once, but twice. Why do you hold such guilt?"

"Marie did not die that night, Isabella." Alice bites her lip, gazing up at me from where she kneels.

"Or any other night. I brought her home, here, to this cottage in the woods. I nurtured her, raised her for three years, just as if she was my own. We grew into a comfortable lifestyle, Marie and I. Too comfortable, in fact. I wasn't prepared for what happened next."

"My sister, my twin sister is _alive_?"

Alice ignores me, clutching my hand tighter as I attempt to pull away. "There's a brook in the forest. The water rushes over the stones, and makes a sound like that of a babbling baby. Marie and I enjoyed exploring the creek bed, searching for lizards and frogs for my remedies. Marie had already begun to show signs of great power, even at such a premature age. It was nothing like I'd ever seen. She'd point at a rock and it would hover above the water. She would squeal at the sky and birds would swoop down from the trees, fluttering in a circle around her. The wind from their wings would lift her up above the ground. Her little feet would dangle above the earth."

"Where is Marie now?" I jerk my hand from her grasp and stand, caring nothing about her tales of supernatural power. "Where is my sister?"

Alice languidly rises from her kneeling position and squares her shoulders. "Your sister lives in the palace, where she has lived for the past thirteen years."

"What?" I whisper. "I don't- I don't understand."

"I heard the pounding of hooves, the laughter of men," Alice replies. "I was gathering berries. Marie was standing near the bank peering down at the ground. I called for her, but she never glanced up. I panicked and hid behind the berry bush just as the guards approached. Later I would find out that a thief had escaped the palace and disappeared into the woods, leading the guards to follow him into the forest. Instead of finding the bandit, they found Marie, placing her hands on a dead bird, bringing it back to life. The bird stretched his wings and flew into the sky."

"The guards took her," I say. "But why? Why if not to hang her?"

"King Carlisle had a second son, a son around the same age as Marie. They named him Masen and loved him a great deal. No other children had been doted upon like Prince Edward and his brother, Prince Masen. But three years after the birth of their youngest, Prince Masen fell gravely ill. The royal physician examined him and came to the conclusion that he would not live past his fifth year. The king and queen were desperate to save him, using every resource available. Except for one."

Realization washes over me. "Witchcraft."

"Yes, witchcraft." Alice tilts her head, examining my face. "The guards saw your twin bringing that stiff, little bird back to life and must have realized what a great treasure they'd found in the woods. They carried Marie with them and I … I hid behind a berry bush."

Anger bubbles inside of me as the image of Alice hiding while my sister rode away forever, clouds my mind. But I brush the anger aside, desperate for more information. "How do you know she's still alive?"

"She's a Higginbotham." Alice shrugs as though my question is simple, silly. "I can see through all of your eyes. The king and queen call her a healer. She lives in the palace hidden away where no one can see the mark on her face. Despite her secrecy and little contact with anyone outside of the royal family, she's led a rather happy life. Until now."

Dread fills my soul. "Why not now?"

"Prince Masen is long since healed. There are whispers in the court, rumors of a girl the king and queen keep hidden. Marie is of no use to them now. Although they used her powers to establish good health in their son, they do not utilize her sorcery for anything else. Her presence at the kingdom puts them all at risk. The Church simply would not tolerate what they would consider 'evil' inside the palace walls. Marie is well aware of the royal family's intentions to … _rid_ the kingdom of her presence. She _is _in love with Prince Masen after all, and he keeps no secrets from his precious Marie."

"She and Prince Masen?"

"One doesn't spend that much time together without showing affection, which is why Prince Edward was recently in the woods. He's seeking someone to help Marie break out of her invisible shackles. You see, as dastardly as his father is, Prince Edward is a kind, gentle man. He loves his younger brother a great deal and thinks of Marie as the little sister he never had."

"Why didn't he recognize me in the woods? I am Marie's twin, after all."

"Twins, but not identical. Your sister is a lithe, frail little thing with dark eyes and hair. Your features, while dark, are still much lighter than hers. You're physically stronger from hunting and running in the woods. Marie has been sheltered her entire life and only sees the sunrise from the window inside her bedchamber."

"I have to save her," I murmur. "I have to save my sister."

"Of course you do." Alice grips my hands. This time I don't pull away. "You _will _save her. You, and Prince Edward."

* * *

Have I lost my mind? Still with me?


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter Three**

I want nothing more than to tell Seth and my mother of Marie, but Alice insisted I keep my silence, later explaining that she stole Marie away soon after our birth while my mother slept. Part of me desires to hate Alice for what she'd done- taking a child away from my mother, ripping my twin from my life. However, a greater part of me understands Alice only did so with the best intentions for my sister and for her family.

A week later, I'm greeted with another message tied around the kindling-thin leg of a bird. I read it, tossing it in the fire when I finish reading, and then slip into a burgundy gown.

"You're going hunting in that?" Mother asks, raising an eyebrow. She rests near the fireplace, knitting booties for her soon-to-be born niece.

"Is there something wrong with this gown?" I glance down, frowning at the simplicity of it all. Never have I wished to own finer things, but today … today, for whatever reason, I do.

"Usually you slip away wearing your brother's britches. Tell me, fair daughter, is it difficult hunting in a gown?"

"How could I know? I never have."

"Yet today you wear a gown." Mother smiles down at the booties, the gleam of the flames shining brightly on her knitting needles. "Are you hunting alone?"

"Who else would I hunt with?" I grumble, and feel my face heating. "Besides, it is daylight. I wouldn't leave the house in Seth's britches while people are roaming about."

"Yes, it is daylight. You slept late this morning. Could it possibly be from all the dreams?"

"Dreams?"

"Dreams." Mother pauses from her knitting and graces me with a knowing grin. "I heard you last night murmuring a name. Edward, Edward, Edward. Who is this Edward, daughter? Tell me you're not dreaming of the prince? Surely my only daughter hasn't transformed into some silly girl with an affection for the future king."

"Half the males in our village are named Edward," I mutter, easing toward the door. "Made a more popular name in the kingdom around twenty-seven years ago with the birth of Prince Edward."

"If not the prince, then who?" Excitement fills her voice, her eyes sparkling. At sixteen, I'm of marrying age now and she's worried, worried her daughter shall fail to find a husband who'll overlook my barbaric ways.

"It was a dream—a silly little dream. Now, if you don't mind, I'd like to check the traps I set yesterday. Is that all right?"

Mother laughs at the irritation in my voice and gives me a dismissive wave of her hand. "Go. Tell whomever this Edward boy is hello for me."

I grumble below my breath and open the door. Before I can exit, Mother clears her throat.

"Aren't you forgetting something, my dear?"

She nods at my bow and quiver propped up near the fireplace. Blushing, I grab them before departing the cottage, leaving her and her giggles behind.

The village is already filled with the hustle and bustle of busy townsfolk. Situated atop a steep hill, the sound of the ocean pounding against the mountainside can sometimes be heard at night, when the animals are resting and the clang of the blacksmith forging metal has long faded away. Twenty-five quaint, wooden houses with thatched roofs make up the town, some more pleasant than others.

As I enter the woods, I imagine what life is like for my sister in the Cullen castle. With its great, high walls and colossal towers made of white stone, locals call it the Ivory Palace and boast about it being the closest kingdom to heaven.

I know better.

Lost in my thoughts of ivory towers and my captive twin, I almost miss the prince. The emerald-green of his attire blends nicely in the forest. He sits atop a smooth boulder overlooking Devil's Backbone, the same babbling brook where his people found my sister, sixteen summers ago. Placing my hands on the bark of a tree, I watch him for a moment, attempting to swallow the humiliation I feel within myself for being so enthralled with a man well above my station.

Prince Edward's eyes are fixed on a knife in his hands, whittling away at an object I cannot identify. Beneath his skin, I can see the muscles of his hands as they flex; such large hands with slender fingers and confident movements. The prince pauses from his whittling and slides the knife inside his boot. Pursing his lips, he blows at something small between his fingers. Dust particles dance in the sunlight, drifting over the brook. He removes a leather cord from his own neck and threads it through the object in his hand. I lean forward, squinting for a better view of what he's doing. A twig pops beneath my foot. The prince immediately stands, dropping the object and drawing his sword in one graceful swoop.

"Relax, Your Highness." I feign indifference at his presence as I descend the hill overlooking the brook. "I mean you no harm."

"Butterfly." He beams at me, sliding his sword back into its sheath. "How did I know I would find you fluttering around in these woods today?"

"Ah, but that is where you are wrong, my lord. _I _am the one who found _you_. And I prefer the name Isabella, if you don't mind."

I smirk boldly at him, my smile wavering as I grow closer. His face becomes serious, his grin no longer friendly. Only a few steps away, I pause, gripping the strap of my quiver on my shoulder.

"What?" I ask, self-conscious of my appearance now that I've drawn closer to him. "Why do you stare so?"

"Why does one stare into the ocean?" he whispers, stepping forward. "Why does one stare into the sunset as it dips into the gentle waves? You are beautiful, Milady."

With each step he takes forward, I take one back in return. His proximity frightens me, awakening all those feelings he inflicted upon me the last time we met. My hand unconsciously presses against my upper thigh. He doesn't miss the movement.

"How is your leg? Has it since healed?"

The back of my thighs slap roughly against something hard and jagged. The quiver and bow fall from my shoulder and land on the ground. Trapped between a large boulder and the crowned prince, the freedom I've felt the entirety of my life easily slips away.

"My leg is fine. Step away, please."

"Let me examine your leg."

"What?" Appalled by his suggestion, I attempt to move around him, but he entraps me, placing one hand on each side of me. I dare not move, lest I touch him. "Release me from your confines!"

Prince Edward smirks once again. "I shall, once you allow me to examine your wound. I shan't believe it to be healed unless I examine it myself."

"I think you saw enough of my bare skin the last time we met." My cheeks flame at the lewd memory.

His smirk dies away, his eyes transforming into something dark and serious. "Tell me I'm the only man who has seen your bare thigh."

I cannot look him in the eye.

Not because of deceit, but because of the unusual vulnerability flooding my veins. Instead, I focus on a bird perched on a low-lying branch a few feet away. His little head tilts to the side, watching me as intently as I watch him.

"You're the only man who has seen my bare thigh," I whisper.

"Splendid." He grins and grasps my waist, lifting me on top of the boulder. "So there shall be no problem with me seeing it again."

The sudden movement causes me to shriek, but he cups his hand over my mouth. My scream dies away, my hot breath tickling my face beneath his hand. The sensation of his fingers upon my lips leaves me weak and wanton, two sensations I rarely feel. I dare not move as he lifts my skirt and shift above my ankles and knees, well above the stockings held up by my hand-me-down garters. His eyes never leave mine until the pale white of my thighs are revealed. He stares down at the crescent-shaped mark on my leg. The skin is puckered and pink, slightly raised. I close my eyes, ashamed of my near nudity.

"How I wish to know every mark on your body. Every scar, every freckle," he murmurs. His fingers abandon my lips, both hands now resting on my upper thighs. He strokes the ruined skin, each swipe of his thump eliciting a thrilling jolt of heat inside my body. "My beautiful Butterfly."

"My name is Isabella Higgins," I whisper from behind closed lids. "I am no butterfly, Sire. My surname derives from Higginbotham, a name I'm sure you know well."

Prince Edward ceases, his fingertips pressing roughly into my flesh from where they are seemingly frozen. He says nothing, so I continue.

"I am not beautiful. I am a peasant girl, a peasant girl whose family brought great shame upon this land. I do not sew or sing; I cannot mend stockings or knit baby bonnets. And I shall not give my body as some sort of servitude to my country."

"A modest witch." He chuckles, his fingers continuing their path along my thighs. My eyes flutter open and I gaze at him, my heart halting, as I find no judgment in their depths. "A modest and honest witch. My father would be stunned into silence with this information."

"I am a Higginbotham, but I am no witch."

Raising one eyebrow, he says, "How is that so? All the women from the Higginbotham bloodline are witches. At least, that's what I've always been taught."

"You've been misinformed." I bite my lip, looking away once more. "A person only becomes what society expects if they_ allow_ themselves to do so."

"Ah, so you _do_ possess the powers, yet choose not to practice them. Interesting."

"I'm far from interesting, Sire."

"On the contrary," he murmurs. "I find you entirely enthralling. If revealing your true surname was an attempt to deter my affections, I'm afraid to inform you that it's had quite the opposite effect. If anything, I'm even more mesmerized by you. If you don't use your powers of sorcery, how did you know I'd be in the forest today?"

Pursing my lips into a stubborn line, I say nothing. Chuckling, he steps away, allowing me to tug my wrinkled skirt and shift down over my legs. Sliding from atop the boulder, I'm silent as he returns to the rock where he earlier perched. He kneels down and picks something up from the ground before returning to where I stand. This time, I do not step away as he crosses the distance between us.

"Lift your braid, peasant girl who is not a witch."

Narrowing my eyes at his amused face, I lift the heavy braid from behind my neck. The prince ties a leather cord around my neck, his gaze roaming my face as his diligent fingers twist the cord into a knot. Once he steps back, I lift the object from my chest, my breath trapped inside my lungs. A tiny, wooden butterfly hangs from the cord, the wings spread open. Tiny antennas jut out from the creature's head.

"It's breathtaking. Such detail. What did I do to deserve such a gift?" I laugh, unable to contain myself of this absurdity. "I shot arrows at you."

"Yet I live another day," he says. "I find you heroic. And also, a little foolish. As you said, you _did _shoot arrows at the prince, after all."

"Heroic? I don't underst-"

"You were protecting your grandmother, were you not? That's why you shot arrows at me that day, isn't it?"

My body goes rigid. "I was protecting both of you; Alice, my flesh and blood, and you, the man who shall someday be King. I did not know the consequences of your actions. Nor did you. Alice is a very powerful witch. You could have been easily killed."

"Yet I was spared. Why is that?"

"She knows why you seek her, Your Highness. You come searching for help, not to hurt her."

"How can one hurt a creature that never dies?" he asks.

I frown. "Alice can die a thousand deaths and never truly die, yet she can feel pain just as you and I can."

"I would never hurt anyone from Marie's family." While speaking my sister's name, he watches me with a cautious expression.

"I was unaware of my sister's existence until recently." Voice clouded with emotion, I continue to speak. "You wish for her to be released before your father transpires to kill her. I wish to assist you with your endeavor."

"I'm afraid the situation is far more complicated than simply helping your sister escape." Crossing his arms, he leans against the boulder. "Our siblings have fallen in love with one another. Marie refuses to leave the castle for fear that she'll never see Masen again. In addition, Masen … Masen wants nothing more than for her to be gone, if it means sparing her life. Your sister is as stubborn as a mule and will not bow down. I fear that time is wasting, wasting as quickly as my father's mind.

"The king is old, Isabella. Delirium and violent aggression has set in. My mother believes Marie's healing powers can help him, but he's become paranoid of everyone and everything and refuses to allow her to lay hands on him. The girl who was once like a daughter to him is now a wicked being, so he claims."

"Does Marie know about me? Does she know she has a sister?"

Prince Edward's shoulders sag. Discouragement etches his face. "How could she, when none of us knew? All she remembers of her previous life is a young woman, a cottage in the woods, and Devil's Backbone."

"Then how shall I convince her of my existence? Once I arrive, how can I convince her to leave the palace? She is my twin, yet we look nothing alike, according to my grandmother."

"No, you look nothing alike. Marie is so fair, so lovely."

I drop my chin, his words pricking my heart. A gentle touch to my jaw and I lift my head, assisted by his fingers. Devotion shines in his eyes.

"But you, my little butterfly, are the most exquisite, most bewitching creature I've ever encountered."

"You shouldn't misguide me with your flowery words, Sire. I only have but one heart, lest it becomes broken."

"Never. I'll never break your heart."

'Liar," I whisper, trembling at the immediate anger shadowing his features. "We are from two different stations in life. There is no future for us. My innocence is to be saved for my future husband, whoever he shall be."

"Isabella-" He reaches for me, yet I step away.

"Back to the situation at hand," I say, ignoring the flex of his tightening jaw. "How do we convince Marie that I'm her sister and to leave the palace with me before your father's iron fist strikes down upon her? I could ask Alice to accompany us as a testament to the truth, but she won't. She'll never leave these woods."

The prince returns to his perch against the boulder. He gazes at the brook, the anger still evident on his face. A long stretch of time passes, both of us deep in thought. Finally, he speaks.

"We've been over-thinking this entire situation." Prince Edward chuckles bitterly. "Instead of convincing her to leave the castle, we must find a way for _you_ to get inside."

I shake my head at his absurd words. "I don't- I don't understand, Sire."

"You do not practice witchcraft, but you do know how, don't you?"

I set my jaw. "You are not asking me to invoke the spirits."

Prince Edward raises his chin. "I'm not asking you to invoke the spirits. As the future king, I'm _commanding _you to do so. It's the only way to save your sister."

"And if I refuse?" I ask, raising my chin just as stubbornly.

The prince chuckles and pushes himself away from his perch. He approaches me, his eyes dark with a now familiar intensity that makes my bones melt. I screech as he wraps one hand around my waist, forcing me flush against his body. My hands flutter around, finding a home upon the hard planes of his chest. He winds his fingers through the hair at the base of my neck, beneath the heavy braid. Tugging gently, he tilts my head back and my gaze rests upon his lips. They are pink and parted, his breath heavy.

Descending upon me, he captures my mouth with his. A mutual moan fills the air, along with the sound of soft sighs and escaped breaths. Pushing my timidness aside, I open my mouth at the stroke of his insistent tongue. The sensation of his tongue stroking mine is so foreign, so strange, yet it kindles a flame inside of me. Heat devours my body and I burn. I burn so beautifully for this man who shall inevitably break my heart.

Between kisses, Prince Edward mumbles against my lips. "You shall not refuse me."

"Yes," I moan, as his hard length pressing into my belly. My mind screams at me to flee, yet my body and soul render me still. "I fear I shall refuse you until my dying breath."

"Then I shall see to it that you never die."

Sourness curls in my stomach, his words striking a bitter blow to my system. Wriggling in his grasp, I cry out in pain and his hands immediately leave my body.

"Did I harm you?" he asks, his hands feebly moving about, yet never touching me.

"Yes, you harm me with your words." Tears stream down my face and he stills, his eyes widening. "I wish for a long life with children and a husband I can grow old with. Once my body becomes tired and haggard, I wish for death. I wish to be buried next to my husband and forgotten by all. I do not wish to live forever, Sire. I do not wish to become another Alice."

"How foolish of me," he murmurs. "They were words. Daft words uttered by a love-struck fool. Forgive me. I wish for the same things as you do, Butterfly."

"I shall invoke the spirits," I say, wiping the tears from my face with the back of my hand. "But only if you promise to leave me be once my sister is out of harm's way. Is that understood?"

Prince Edward stares past my shoulder, for once not meeting my gaze. "Yes, I understand."

"Wonderful. Now tell me your plan." I smile, but feel no happiness. No, I feel no happiness at all.

* * *

This isn't angsty. I don't care what Ali says. This is fluff. *cough* Maybe she won't disown me for it being a little angsty. I promise fluff and an HEA! Does that help?


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter Four**

A week creeps by. Days and hours, minutes and seconds, each one longer than the last until the hour arrives for me to meet Prince Edward outside the village. Beneath the veil of darkness he awaits me, perched atop a massive steed. The horse is as black as the sky above us. His nostrils flare as I approach. Clenching my hand in a tight fist, I offer it to the beast and he sniffs it, becoming familiar with my scent. I stroke the silkiness of his soft muzzle.

"All this time I thought you were modest." Prince Edward shifts in his saddle, the leather creaking beneath him. "And then you show up wearing that."

I blush, well aware of my indecency. Alice had insisted I wear the black lace gown, the material tatted by her own hands long ago. The bodice is non-existent. Instead, a long sliver of skin is exposed between my breasts. No shift lies under the gown.

"Sire, this gown possesses great powers. I assure you, I did not wear it in an attempt to allure you."

"You could wear a potato sack and I'd still find you alluring." Prince Edward chuckles and offers his hand. "Let us make haste. The night is only so young and time is of utmost importance."

I take his hand and he assists me onto the horse. Pressing my body closely to his, I'm confused about where to rest my hands. Eventually, I let them fall to the side atop my legs, but once he snaps the reins and we jerk forward, my arms easily wind around his waist.

The ride through the forest to the castle is quiet, for the most part. The only sounds in the air are the pounding of the horse's hooves against the earth. Giving in to my secret desires, I lean into him, resting my cheek against his back. His body stiffens and then gives a gentle sway, relaxing in my arms. Closing my eyes, I imagine the expensive material of his cloak is no longer soft. I imagine it as rough and worn as a man's work shirt as he labors on the farm. For the brief amount of time we travel through the forest, I pretend he is no longer a prince. The rhythmic rocking of the horse lulls me into a dreamlike state, and when I awaken, we're on a steep hill overlooking an ivory-colored kingdom.

"The mouth of that cave serves as the entryway." He points at a dark, gaping hole in the side of the mountain. Rocks jut out above the opening, giving the mountainside the appearance of a forlorn face silently wailing into the night. "Do you have what you need?" His voice is stiff, formal. It injures. I release him from my embrace and instantly miss the closeness of his body. The horse neighs and paws at the ground, jerking when I throw my leg over his muscular body and dismount.

"Yes." I remove a small vial from a necklace I am wearing around my neck. The one the prince made me is now tied around my wrist, hidden by my sleeve. "How long is the journey through the catacombs?"

He tells me and I nod, removing the tiny cork wedged inside the opening of the bottle. I turn away from him and press the bottle to my lips. Closing my eyes, I pause only when I hear his heavily booted feet land on the ground.

"Wait." Gone is the unconcerned tone from earlier. He wraps his fingers around my wrist, halting my movement. "No harm will come to you from drinking this vile concoction?"

"Other than me eventually turning into a billy goat? No."

Prince Edward's eyes widen in alarm and I laugh. The fraught slips from his face and he smirks, shaking his head. "You mock me for my concern. How can you laugh at a time like this?"

"Because I'd like to spend my last moments on earth alone with you, laughing, instead of wracked with nerves, Sire."

"Last moments on earth?" He stares warily at the vial.

"Not because of the potion—because of that." I nod at the kingdom below us and he follows my gaze, recognition dawning upon his face. "If I am caught I shall be hung from the gallows."

"Ah, but there is a simple solution to your problem."

"And what is that?" I ask.

Prince Edward grins. "Don't get caught."

My smile and a playful elbow to his ribs distract him. His grip loosens on my wrist and I hold my breath, drinking the thick liquid without another thought. Grit scratches my throat and I wretch, yet do not vomit. Tears spring to my eyes. I swallow down the bitter taste inside my mouth, refusing to imagine the contents of the potion. Fright fills his eyes, but it is too late.

"Go." I shove his chest, but he doesn't stumble.

He's an oak, unmoving.

Strong and solid, he does not budge.

"Get on your horse and go. I'll see you inside the palace."

"Promise me." His voice is weak. "Promise me."

"I promise."

He cups my face with his hands, his mouth just a breath from mine. Turning, I refuse him a kiss. Terror seizes my chest at the thought of him consuming a simple taste of what stains my lips. Death would greet him swiftly if the liquid were to seep into his system.

"A poisonous kiss, Your Highness." I cup his face as well. The sleeve of my gown slides down my arm, exposing my wrist. A wooden butterfly dangles near his face and he smiles at the tiny trinket, hope lighting his eyes.

"Do not even think of calling me Butterfly." I warn him with a raised eyebrow, but I am unable to keep a stern face. Before I can change my mind, I stretch my neck and stand on my toes. He draws in a deep breath, unmoving as my lips brush his jaw.

"Your kiss is full of sorrow, as though it is our last," he whispers. "I wish for you to always kiss me goodnight."

A sob catches in my throat, momentarily rendering me speechless. Clasping his hands in mine, I summon him to follow me with a wordless gaze.

The air is much cooler inside the cave. A flicker of faraway light beckons me down the stony corridor. Prince Edward removes a torch from the wall and hands it to me. Ghastly shadows dance across his face, morphing his features.

"Marie's bedchamber lies near the end of the North tunnel. You do remember your way through the catacombs, do you not?" he asks.

"Yes, Sire. Your instructions were very specific."

Prince Edward sighs, backing into the darkness. "Then I shall see you on the other side."

Within moments, I am alone in the stone corridor, but I do not linger. Echoing drops of water drip from the walls. Shadows cast from the torch chase me down the catacombs like sprinting ghosts. Following the map only visible inside my head, I take turn after turn. The wooden door signifying the end of my journey is only a few steps away when the excruciating pain begins.

Biting my fist to keep the screams at bay, I stumble and fall to the ground. The torch falls from my hand as sparks of fire litter the ground. Kicking off my shoes and ripping away my gown, I moan. The last thing I remember before succumbing to darkness and pain is the feeling of wooden wings cutting into the palm of my hand.

* * *

Ali musta spiked Bella's mead, errrr, potion, with some of her hocus pocus. What's gonna happen once she awakens?


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter Five**

When I awaken, I am not myself.

I am no longer Isabella.

I'm a ghost, invisible to the naked eye. Only those with extraordinary powers shall recognize me. I can only wonder how strong my sister's abilities are and if she will see what others cannot. The uncertainty of this question is the reason I brought only one vial of potion and not two.

Noise outside of the hidden tunnel door causes me to withstand further investigation of my strange none-body. In a flurry of sore limbs and fumbling fingers, I scramble to my feet. Using the torch to guide my way, I search the embedded wall for one stone, one stone, which juts out further than the rest. Once I find it, I hang the torch on the wall and press the stone with all my might.

The wooden wall of the dead-end tunnel gives way, popping and groaning. Heart thumping frantically in my chest, I slide the door open wide, fearful of what lies ahead.

Heavy draperies depicting valiant victories of wars long-fought hang from the walls of stone in the corridor. Painted eyes of Prince Edward's dead ancestors follow me as I sneak down the hall, their stoic faces glaring accusingly from the portraits. Soft snores fill the corridor, and within moments, I find the source of the sound. Two guards lean heavily on either side of a door. Stiff, emerald-green suits grace their thick statures. Their hands rest on the handle of their swords. Traces of a crimson substance paint their lips. An empty bottle of mead lays turned on its side near one of the guard's boots.

"Prince Edward completed his task," I whisper to myself, smiling. "Valerian in the mead. You shall both wake quite rested in the early morn."

I step between them and face the door, the humor in my thoughts dying away. Placing my hand on the wood, I close my eyes and feel the energy vibrating through the closed door. My sister, my _twin_, awaits me on the other side, and I have Prince Edward to thank for bringing me to her.

Not until this moment does conflict strike me.

The plan Prince Edward and I hatched together plays inside my mind. I'm to appear to my sister as the only relative she's ever known, wait in her chamber until Prince Masen and Prince Edward arrive, and then travel the catacombs back to the forest where freedom awaits. King Carlisle would not gather a search party for the girl he's hidden away all these years. A search party would be too risky. If the people of the land were to become informed of their king's secret, using a condemned, wicked entity to save his sickly son and stowing her away all these years while hanging and punishing others for the same type of crimes, they would revolt.

Hatred bubbles inside me— hatred and resentment for the king, for stealing away sixteen years of my sister's life, stealing away sixteen years of _my_ life that has now slipped away, never to be returned.

A loud snore startles me, and my eyes spring open. With a deep breath, I tuck my woes away. The vibration of the wood beneath my fingertips increases with the force of my hand pushing open the door. Candlelight awaits me—candlelight and a girl, restless in her slumber.

Standing over her, I search her face for any signs of resemblance between us and find very little at first. But then, she turns from her side, hair splayed around her, ocean-blue bed sheets ensnared around her legs, giving her the appearance of a mermaid drifting in the sea.

Peering down at this stranger, I drink in her features. This beautiful, unfamiliar person, whom Alice claims is my twin. Her face is slender, where mine is more round; her eyelashes aren't as thick, her hair much darker than mine. However, the longer I stare the more I see it: her narrow chin, the curve of her lips, and the arch in her brow … all of these features also belong to me.

Belonged to me _before_ I consumed the potion.

A sharp intake of breath draws me from my inspection. My sister trembles in the bed, her eyes wide with fright.

"You- you are a ghost." Dark eyes blinking, she grasps the duvet, shielding her body. "Fading in and out of my view. Who are you?"

_Ah, she is able to see me. _

_Powerful, indeed. _

"I am family," I whisper. "Your twin."

"Twin," she says, clutching the sheets tightly to her chest. "I have no memory of a twin."

"All will be revealed in due time," I say. "For now, we must make haste. Inevitable danger awaits you inside these castle walls."

"How do you know such things?" A tiny line forms between her pinched brows. For a fleeting moment, she reminds me of our mother. "How did you find me?"

"Prince Edward," I respond. "Fear caused by his father's tyranny fueled his quest for me."

Marie untangles the sheets from her body and stands. Candlelight casts a glow upon her skin. As she gazes at me, I see the mark, the strawberry mark she's cursed with. The shameful crimson stain extends from mid-jaw to below her earlobe. Overwhelmed with emotion, I squeeze her fingers.

"King Carlisle is disgruntled by my presence," she says. "Where he once displayed affection he now shows affliction. Yet, I cannot leave this castle. You see, I'm in love, Madame."

"You are in love with a dream," I whisper, fervently clenching her hands. "The king will never accept you as a suitable bride for his son. Your powers betray you. Your own flesh betrays you." I touch the strawberry mark marring her face. Tears streak down her cheeks with each word I speak.

"Does Masen know Edward sent you to fetch me?" she asks.

"Prince Edward informs him of our plans as we speak," I reply. "They are to meet us in this very bedchamber at any moment and assist us through the catacombs. Prince Edward fears you are too frail to travel the tunnels without further assistance."

"What if I never see Masen again?" She withdraws her hands from mine, and frantically swipes at her tear-stained cheeks. "I would rather die by the king's hand than to live a loveless life."

"You have more family on the outside besides me who will shower you with love and affection." I pause, taking a deep breath. "Your father is deceased, but your mother, brother, and aunt live in a nearby village."

"My mother? My mother still lives?"

"Yes, your mother," I say. "_Our_ mother. She has believed you to be deceased all these years. Once she's made aware of your existence, she will be desperate to see you. Revealing my plans to her ahead of time was a risk I could not take. Only our grandmother, Alice, knows where you reside."

"Many nights were spent dreaming of my family, wondering who they were, if they missed me and why they never sought after me. Alice …" She smiles as she speaks our grandmother's name. "Alice is the name of the woman, the woman who lives in the only memory of my childhood."

"Come with me and make new memories with your family."

Marie glances between me in the door, the worry etched in the creases of her forehead. I feel the hesitancy, the uncertainty wafting from her body with each persistent word I speak. The creak of the door behind me causes us to both tense and lock our arms around one another. Our actions are spontaneous; an embrace between strangers, but it feels natural, as though we were born to comfort one another.

Prince Edward is the first to enter the room, quickly shutting the door behind a younger man who walks into the room behind him. Prince Masen has softer emerald eyes and gentle curves to his face. Genuine concern tugs his lips in a frown, his gaze lingering on my sister's arms, which are draped over my invisible body. Wearing wrinkled britches and a rumbled, un-tucked shirt, his face lined with sleep, he crosses the room. The couple embraces and I'm left standing alone, my body cold, missing the girl whom I shared a womb with during the dawn of our lives.

"Marie," Masen whispers. His lips kiss her mark and my hand drifts to the place where my heart rests below. "Marie, Marie, my sweet Marie."

"Must I leave?" she replies, her words piercing my soul. "Must I leave you behind?"

"The palace is no longer safe," he says. "You must go with your sister. Seek out your aunt. She, and the great powers she possesses, shall protect you far better than Edward and I ever could."

Worry weighs heavily on my mind. Only an hour remains before the potion wears away. A clock chimes somewhere in the distance, signaling the urgency of the situation at hand.

"Make a decision," I say, causing Masen to flinch. "Run and live to see another day, stay and inevitably die by the king's hand. Choose wisely, sister, but I implore you to make haste, for by the end of the hour, my true self shall be revealed. Escape could be quite difficult should any awake while I'm in my true form."

"Will I ever see you again?" she asks Masen, her voice trembling.

"Yes," he says his voice sure.

"No," I mutter. I place my hand on her shoulder. "Reuniting with the prince once we leave this castle is unsafe."

Moroseness clouds Prince Edward's features, tensing his bones. Although I speak to Marie of her and Masen rejoining outside of the palace walls, my words affect Prince Edward and me, as well. Selfish thoughts of living without Prince Edward's teasing smile and flowery compliments, brings my knees to buckle.

"I shall only leave if you swear you will find me," Marie says, clutching Masen's hands.

"I shall come to you once I find it safe to do so," he replies. "Father will be suspicious of my actions. Time will not be our friend in the beginning. Be patient and I will arrive when the time is right."

"We must go," I say. "Prince Edward and Prince Masen will lead you through the catacombs. I shall tarry close behind. Do not speak to one another. Do not sigh. Do not utter a sound lest we be heard. Is that understood?"

Marie nods, her chin trembling. But she tilts it up and I smile, seeing the strength within her displayed with the simple gesture. Prince Masen holds her close, drops a sweet kiss on her lips, and guides her to the door. They disappear into the dark corridor, their footsteps smothered by the incessant snores of the guards. Prince Edward glances around the room, his eyes narrowed. Each time his eyes skim unseeingly across mine, my body trembles.

"Let us go, Isabella," he says, his gaze still wandering the room. "Once your potion wears away we shall share one last kiss. And I shall see you nevermore, as you requested. After all, we did make a deal."

Prince Edward drifts out of the room, defeat evident with each step. I lag behind and pause near the doorway. Prince Edward's cloak flutters in his hurried gate. Instead of following him, I turn to the right and dart down the corridor, following the map inside my head. The prince not only relayed the floor plan of the castle from the catacombs leading to my sister's bedchamber. He'd voiced every room, every minute detail of the castle in great length should I become lost inside the almost identical hallways. The path I take leads me to a monstrosity of a room where more sleeping guards sit slumped on either side of the doorway, exhausted by their own devices, if the copious amounts of empty mead bottles nearby are any indication. Touching the wooden door, I sigh, remembering the prince's words.

One should never make a deal.

Especially with a devil.

The king sleeps so beautifully, his tyrant face smoothed out with welcomed rest. His wife is by his side, eyes wildly searching for something behind her closed lids. She stirs once she hears me, but grows still, soon after. The tip of the knife I once accidentally pierced my thigh with clicks against the mostly empty vial, which is still suspended on the necklace around my neck. Mostly empty, yet not entirely. There is but one drop left, enough to prove fatal to those who are unaccustomed to potions and spells.

The king makes no sound as I sink the dagger deep inside his heart.

* * *

o.O


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter Six**

**Six months later …**

_Flashes of pale white skin flicker back to life under the pale __moonlight.__ Panting, I dart behind tree after tree, anxiety strangling my throat. Dogs howl in the distance and my mind fills with images of snarling muzzles and gleaming teeth ripping apart my flesh._

"_Isabella."_

_He stands at a fork in the road, screaming my name. His horse jerks his head, tugging the reins in Prince Edward's hand with each syllable uttered. The whites of his eyes are blinding beneath the moonlight, enlarged much more than my sister's or his brother's. One winding trail beside him leads east, the other trails west. The small village I grew up in lies in the east. And west … _

_I'm unfamiliar with the towns of the west. _

"_I hear the royal hounds howling in the distance," Prince Masen murmurs, his voice carrying over my panting breaths. "Someone must have seen us escape." The steed he sits upon neighs and paws at the ground. Marie shifts on the saddle behind the prince, her arms wrapped tightly around the man she loves. Terror grips her face and shivers seize her body. Whether it's from the fear of being caught or riding the great beast, I do not know._

"_Run,"I scream. "Head west."_

_Prince Edward catches me as I stumble. His fingers grip each side of my waist and he hoists me onto his horse. _

_Trepidation plays across his features and now my_heart _is the one stumbling. Taking the reins from his outstretched hand, I open my mouth, ready to question the hard line of his lips. Before I speak a word, he yells out into the night, slapping the horse on his rear. _

_We take off into the darkness, __the prince's steed and me.__ Leaning forward, I clutch the reins, the force of the night air stinging my eyes. Tears do not hinder me from glancing over my shoulder. Marie and Prince Masen gain speed and canter past me. My steed follows the trail without my assistance, for I am left worthless and empty. I watch Prince Edward over my shoulder until the night swallows him whole._

_I never see him again. _

"Isabella. Isabella."

I smile in the darkness, refusing to open my eyes. _He's come for me_, I think to myself. _He's calling my name_. But the voice transforms into one less masculine … Actually feminine. Dream Edward fades away, just as he has for the past six months. In his place is the voice of my sister, shaking me awake with the shrillness of her tone.

"Let me be," I mumble, pulling the covers over my head.

"It is midnight, dear sister." Excitement edges her voice, a newfound emotion since honing in on her powers. "And the moon is fat and orange. A blood moon, Alice calls it. We must go."

"Perhaps I shall join you later. As of now, I feel quite ill."

Marie smiles the same complacent smile that's dawned on her face for half a year now. "Dreaming sweet dreams of Edward again?"

"I do not wish to speak of Prince Edward." I turn up my nose, staring stubbornly down the arch of it. "One does not dream _sweet dreams_of one's mortal enemy."

"You were moaning his name," Marie says, cocking her head to the side in amusement. "You love him still, do you not? Admit it! After all this time, after all the things we've heard about witches being slaughtered on his quest to find you, you continue to love him."

"I feel nothing," I reply. "Nothing but pain."

Marie does not respond, but she does touch my hair. She runs her fingers through the loose curls, remnants of a braid I will wear nevermore. There is little left of the Isabella I once was, in appearance and otherwise. Months spent fleeing for my life has changed me.

My coven has changed me.

"You should not listen to the gossip of the townsfolk here in Frok, Isabella. Stories of witch hunts are spun out of control. None of our coven is familiar with any of the alleged names of those whom Masen and Edward have allegedly slain. For all we know, these supposed witches being massacred are non-existent."

"Why do you continue to protect them, so?" I ask. "Are you so blinded by love that your common sense has gone askew? I murdered the king, Marie. I am certain Prince Edward isn't seeking me out for that last kiss I promised him."

Marie sighs and I can practically hear the sadness expelled from her heavy breath. "Prince Edward endured more heartache at the king's hands that I'm sure even you are aware of. Have faith, my sorrowful sister. Forgiveness is an intelligent play, given to others from those who were once dealt a bad hand."

Floorboards of the old house creak as she crosses the room away from my bed. Groaning, I remove the covers from my face and catch a glimpse of my sister before she steps out of the doorway. The skirts of her dress flutter and drift to the floor, revealing her bare legs. Completely nude, she leaves me with one curling smile on her face before ducking outside into the darkness.

Heaving a sigh, I sit up on the bed. Even after all these months, my body isn't accustomed to sleeping on anything other than hay mattresses or the hard, packed earth. Stretching, I take a moment to admire the room around me. Pale, pink wallpaper and frosted sconces with flickering candlelight, velvet wingback chairs and a subtle, wooden vanity … These are the things that fill my room, a far cry from the bare bedroom and minimal belongings I was once accustomed to_before_.

Before meeting my coven and before meeting Prince Edward.

The mere thought of his name sends me falling back against the soft mattress. I close my eyes, the past several months playing behind my lids: months of hiding in the west woods, wading through creeks and clinging to my sister for heat, in comfort from the cooling climate months of the unknown, months of witch hunts led by Prince Edward himself.

Tears of betrayal weld in my eyes and I laugh at my own hypocrisy, for _I _am the one who initially betrayed him. Those tears spill over the edges, leaving a cold, tickling streak behind. I brush them away and sit up once more on the edge of the bed, staring through the nearby window. Beneath the trees, in the light of the moon, Alice follows a worn path leading to a flaming circle a great distance away from the home we all share. Voices bounce off the trees, spoken from the naked bodies of our modest-sized coven chatting easily to one another. They are happy. Happy we found one another while hiding from the King's army, led by the King himself.

_King_ Edward.

Standing in front of the open window, listening to the chat dying away and the chanting as it begins, I slip out of my gown. Warm air rushes through the window, yet a chill wracks my bones. The sensation cascading over me has nothing to do with the climate or season. A door creaks behind me and my body goes rigid. Fear envelops me.

"You thought you could outrun me, witch princess? I would spend an eternity destroying heaven and earth until I found you again."

Pinpricks of intensity creep up my body, from my ankles to the top of my head. Covering my breasts with one arm, my sex with my other hand, I turn. Faintness spirals over me, dizzying and clouding my mind. The king stands before me, tall and agile, his rusty-colored hair unkempt and overgrown. Unshaven shadows line his stern jaw. In one hand, he grips my dagger, the other his sword. Crimson stains the blade of the dagger—it is his father's blood. This man will surely kill me. I fall to my knees and rest my head on the floor in honor of the king. Cold metal taps the crown of my head.

"Isabella," he murmurs. "I finally found you. Tell me, dear witch, is this the blade you used to murder my father?"

"Yes, your majesty," I mumble to the floor.

"Sit back on your knees, Isabella. Look me in the eyes when I question you."

I raise my head and straighten my back in obedience to the king, my arms and hands still hiding what little decency I have left, reminding me of when I first met the members of my coven. They had smiled at my shyness, whispering words of encouragement the first time I joined them without a stitch of clothes on my body. Nudity soon became second nature to me, as it should. Nudity_is_a part of nature and it is nothing to be ashamed of. My hands and arms fall limply by my sides and I hold my head up high. Staring him in the eye is like staring at the sun. Tears form, soreness stabs my irises, pain throbs at my temples.

"When did you conspire against me and my family? Was it that first day in the woods, when you shot the arrows? Or was it when I called you my butterfly and wanted nothing more than to spend the remainder of my life here upon this earth, loving you? Was there a tiny shred of time we spent together that you truly felt something for me?"

"Your Majest-"

"Your _Majesty_, Your _Highness_," he snarls. "_Prince_Edward. _Sire_. Never, not _once_, did you call me Edward. Is that how you distanced yourself from me? By remaining so formal even after I confessed my fondness of you?"

"I used those titles out of respect, not to keep my distance. And no, I never conspired to murder the king. Not until I set my eyes upon my sister. Years were stripped away from us— years we should have spent together. Hatred filled my heart in that moment and I struck him like a snake."

The dagger hovers near my head, mere inches from my throat. I raise my hand, wrapping my finger around his wrist and bringing the blade to my throat.

"End my life here, my Lord. I beg of you, do not hang me from the gallows as you have so many others in your quest to find me, for I finally have everything I want in this one place: Alice, my mother and brother, Marie, and now you. I will die happy here tonight; and by your hand, as I so deserve to die."

The blade pierces my skin.

Blood trickles down my chest, between the slopes of my breasts. One drop falls, yet it drips so steadily. Expecting more, I take a deep breath and close my eyes, shielding my view from his enraged gaze. I accept my death. More than that, I embrace it, so long as it is by his hand and not my own. The blade I force against the hollow of my throat cuts superficially. His grip is strong as he attempts to pull the blade away, but I've grown strong as well since we last met, and the blade does not move. Alice will bury me in the woods and I will return to the earth, just as I should. Unlike my grandmother, I will not live a thousand deaths, nor do I want to. But to die just one, worthy, valiant death … The idea is grand.

"I've hung not one soul from the gallows, Isabella. You now believe me to be a monster?"

Hurt pains his face. Sorrow floods my soul for believing the idle gossip I once normally shunned. No wonder names of the persecuted witches were never mentioned as townsfolk spoke of Edward's desperate search to find me. It was all rumors spread by ignorant people. Rumors, as my sister suspected. Rumors as unwarranted as those of old women with warty noses swooping across the night sky on their brooms.

"You are no monster, Sire." I release his wrist and lower my gaze, ashamed. "I am the monster, the devil. End my life now as I ended your father's."

King Edward curses and moans. Metal strikes the wooden floor beside me. Fresh blood and dried blood mix, forming an eerie sight. The king's boots pace back and forth before me, the stomp of his heels causing me to jump each and every time.

"How can I end your life," he cries, kneeling in front of me. "When I only began to live when I first met you?"

He reaches out and I shrink back in fear. Recognition and heartache seizes his face, but his hand is unwavering. Cupping my face, his thumb strokes the incline of my cheek. I lean into his large palm, closing my eyes and wanting nothing more than for this man to love me.

Forever.

"I've denounced my throne," he whispers, startling me from my thoughts. "Masen was next in line, but he denounced it as well. I'm but a poor pauper, Milady and no longer a king."

"Why would you do such a thing? Giving up your lineage ..."

"You once told me you would not sacrifice your body for the servitude of your country. Pray tell me, will you sacrifice your heart, body, and soul for the love of the pauper kneeling before you?"

His words wash over me like warm milk in a bath. His hand abandons my face. It slips down my neck, down the lean muscle of my arm, and tickles the skin above my wrist. Lifting my hand, he places a kiss on the necklace wrapped around my wrist. The butterfly dangles unsteadily from my arm. The flutter of the wooden wings pauses in mid-flight, captured between his fingers just as he's captured me inside his heart.

"Butterfly," he whispers, weaving his fingers through my hair, cradling my neck. "I forgive you. I forgive you for what you did to my revengeful father. Stop flying away from me."

Swallowing a sob, I lean forward and press a kiss to his lips. The taste of his mouth is sweet, like mead and mint. Craving more, I tease his tongue with mine and he complies, stroking his tongue in and out of my mouth. Taking my hands in his, he stands, bringing me up with him and kissing me with fiery passion. The brush of his thumb against the peak of my breast sends an unfamiliar thrill through my bones. I moan into his mouth and he increases the pressure of his thumb against the pink nub, twisting it lightly between his fingers. Wetness trickles between my naked thighs and I press my knees together to alleviate the needy want between my legs.

"I'm miserable, Sire," I whisper. "Squelch this torment you inflict upon me."

Chuckling, he leads me to my bed. He perches on the edge, guiding me between his parted legs. His eyes hold mine for a moment before slowly traveling down. Although I've stood nude before him all this time, this is the first time he's gazed at my naked body. Shame doesn't find me, for the lust in his eyes brings forth a sense of pride I've never experienced before. Glancing up at me once more, he kisses my belly, dipping his tongue inside the tiny indentation. I close my eyes and gasp as his fingers skim the wet flesh between my legs.

"This tiny cleft throbs against my thumb," he says, awed. "I can't help but wonder …"

Pressing down against the foreign, little bump, he elicits a passionate cry from deep within me. He massages the nub, lightly circling the wet bulge with the flat of his thumb. Circling my hips, I become desperate for the friction.

"Lay down for me, Butterfly. Let me make you soar," he whispers.

I comply, resting against the mattress and slightly parting my legs. I find that I can't keep my eyes away from him and the pleasure he inflicts as his hand returns between my legs. He continues massaging that blessed place with his thumb, dipping a finger inside my core. I tense, awaiting the pain I've heard women have when a man enters a woman's body, but all I feel is the blissful pleasure of his fingers stretching and filling my womanhood.

"Allow me to please you," he whispers.

"You please me," I pant. "You please me a great deal."

The stroking between my legs ceases. Edward drags his fingers across his lips, tasting me. The sight makes me squirm with awed excitement and desire.

"Allow me to please you, the way a husband pleases a wife."

A teasing grin breaks across my face. "But you aren't my husband, Sire."

Edward cocks an eyebrow and smirks in return. "No, I am not your husband. But I will be. You will marry me, Isabella. You will marry me and love me for the rest of our lives. And after our death I will continue to love you, in whatever realm we may reside."

Edward's smile turns taunting as he takes his time unbuckling his britches. Once he stands before me naked, teasing smiles and goading statements are a thing of the past. Gripping the base of his manhood, he strokes the length of his shaft and crawls onto the bed between my parted legs. Red moonlight spills into the room, washing his body in a strange glow that matches the dried blood between my breasts. Each plane and hard dip of his body darkens in shadows and then alighting in the rosy glow of the moon. Chants from a far-away fire circle, echo into the night, the voices drowning out my loud moan as Edward's manhood eases inside of me.

Once fully sheathed, he releases a shuddering breath. Discovering that small, wanton nub of mine again, he works it back and forth until I'm arching my back, forcing myself upon his unmoving shaft. Pain pricks at me, but it is brief and fleeting, overshadowed by the pure pleasure of his length driving in and out of my sex.

Stickiness covers my thighs and his hips sliding between my legs feels so sinfully delightful. I scratch at his back, wanting his mouth upon me as I toss back my hair. He licks at my nipples, rolling his tongue around the rosy buds and sucking them delicately between his teeth. Each flicker of that devil tongue sends a wave of fluid pulsing between my throbbing legs and I scream. Violent spasms overtake my core. Sighing and shuddering, my head falls back against the bed and I close my eyes. The rise and fall of my hips as he continues to mount me remains steady. The desperate cry that fills the air next is not my own. He calls out my name, shuddering above as he spills inside me. Body limp and exhausted, he drops down beside me on the bed, as our legs still intertwined.

"Marry me," he whispers. "Marry me, marry me, marry me. Marry me a thousand times. Marry me ten thousand times."

Hope flutters inside my chest, but it threatens to fly away as questions encase me. "Where will we go? Where will we live? People will know who you-"

Edward presses his finger upon my lips. "Marry me."

I kiss his finger, all my questions and worries fading away with the honest devotion in his eyes.

"Yes," I whisper. "Yes."

* * *

And they all lived happily ever after.

* * *

Ali, I love you! Can't wait to hang out with ya at the TFMU and drink all the alcohol. Hope this wasn't too angsty for ya. You know I suck at fluff. :/ Still love me?


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